


Killing Me Softly (With His Dance)

by stylinourry



Series: Profound Bond (DeanCas) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Getting-Through-It-Together Fic, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Body Worship, Bottom Dean, Dean is a Tease, Dean is an R&B/Hip-Hop/Lana Del Rey homosexual, Drug Abuse, Fluff and Smut, God Bless Sheriff Chuck, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Impulsive Dean, Insecure Castiel, LOTS of body worship, Lusty smut then builds into Romantic smut, M/M, Masturbation, Police, Police Officer Castiel, Romance, Secretive Dean, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Smut, Stripper Dean, Top Castiel, and Cas drives him crazy, and then we delve into the dark stuff, dancer!dean, he's a dancer after all, mentions of:, officer!Cas, p.s. Dean gives smut a whole new meaning, this fic starts lightly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 14:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9328208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinourry/pseuds/stylinourry
Summary: Sometimes you seek love in the unlikeliest of places.Dean Winchester changed everything Castiel thought he knew about love, and he is a force of nature who sweeps him off his feet.Literally.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first multi-chaptered DeanCas fic, so I'm a bit nervous as to how everything will play out! Hopefully I'm able to update while we go along since life is hectic (but I always try to make time for writing <3).
> 
> Trigger warning for Implied/Referenced Rape, Drug Abuse, Alcoholism, Suicide, and other potentially sensitive situations. Also, this fic is unbeta-ed, so I apologize for any grammatical errors, syntax errors, spelling errors, etc. (:

“Shoot him!”

The mouth of the gun trembles, pointed towards the galloping legs of their runaway suspect. His index finger is poised, touching the trigger, yet he was hesitant, his shrewd cerulean eyes transfixed on the woman and two young children who were seated at the back of the suspect’s car. The mother, her weathered face shrouded by fear, cocoons her boys in her scarred, disfigured arms. She hides them from the rapid scene unraveling, and he feels his control slipping between his grasp like crumbled sand.

Those boys couldn’t be any older than eight.

Fresh tears streaking her pale cheeks, their mother pleaded to him wordlessly, chapped mouth twisted in despair. A sudden jolt of apprehension envelops his gut, and sour air assaults his nose.

“JUST SHOOT HIM, CASTIEL!”

His colleague’s exasperated yell sounds distant, warped by the internal war raging within him, and Castiel’s hand shakes.

He couldn’t do it.

That man was a father.

A husband.

Did he deserve to be condemned? Should human beings judge his desperation? Desperation so innate? Was he given no choice but to disobey the law?

In less than three seconds the suspect jumps, slamming his body against the car’s hood as a makeshift safety net, and the impact shatters Castiel’s reverie.

Castiel’s colleague moves.

The suspect, recovering himself, then swings around and crashes through the side window, glass shards embedded on the surface of his skin. Sending Castiel an impassive glance, he steps on it, driving away with a deafening screech of tires upon gravel as Gabriel shoots repeatedly.

Rendered useless, Gabriel swears, throwing his gun to the ground in a show of confused anger.

He turns to Castiel, expression wild.

“What the  _hell_  were you thinking, Cas?! He’s, what, the third criminal you’ve let go two months after the first one?!”

Castiel stares at the ground, unable to form a reasonable explanation.

“I don’t know. My mind was disconnected from my body, and I—”

“I honestly have no idea why Chief hasn’t sacked you yet! You can’t keep doing this shit — we’re  _cops_! We  _enforce_  the damn law!”

Castiel flinches, sending Gabriel a look coated in worried shame.

“If you can’t enforce the law, why are you…?

Castiel’s pursed lips seem to quiet his colleague instead, and Gabriel rubs a hand over his ragged face, brown eyes resigned.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel. I really do try.”

Castiel’s voice, tainted with both embarrassment and fatigue, encourages Gabriel to lay his palm on his shoulder, and Castiel’s dark furrowed eyebrows are evident of any repercussions they might encounter due to his careless mistake.

“Listen, I don’t always know what goes on in that weird head of yours, but you have to fix it, Cas. That guy was pinned for illegal drug smuggling. We’re talking like 50 pound bags of crack and fentanyl. If you shot him,  _disarmed_ him, we could've taken him in. He’s responsible for a bunch of dead people— including teens and the homeless —who OD’d on the bad crap.”

Castiel nods, heeding to Gabriel’s miniature picture of the mission, except he still couldn’t accept the possibility that their suspect’s family would have lost him in custody.

Forever, perhaps.

His young sons would no longer know, nor love, their father in the way they meant to, and his wife would mourn her husband’s loss, serving the broken family on a platter to uncertainty for the rest of their lives.

Castiel couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when he began to experience odd lapses in his lawful judgement.

Whatever the reason, he still concluded that criminals who had families affected him greatly.

They return, silent, to their cruiser, Gabriel’s knuckles an off-white from gripping the wheel tight.

 

* * *

 

“He gave me a week to recuperate. Said I must reflect on my actions and observe my judgement as a police officer.”

Anna gapes at Castiel in surprise, cherry pink lips open, her fingers tapping away on her keyboard. “Seriously? You weren’t fired?”

Castiel shakes his head, leaning over the edge of Anna’s small cubicle while he watched her work. “I suppose," he mumbles, smoothing his black standard issue vest over his chest absently, and she sighs, sensing his refusal to continue the discussion.

A few feet away from them they hear boisterous, disbelieving laughter, and Anna tucks a strand of blazing red hair behind her pierced ear, glaring at the source. Castiel hunches, thankful that the office was nearly empty during this time of day.

"It's not funny, Balthazar!”

“C’mon, ‘to recuperate’? How hysterical! He’s treating Cas like a bloody nutcase, if you ask me,” Balthazar remarks, tipping his neck towards them. “You let the mouse escape from the cat  _again_. Third time’s a charm, eh?”

His voice, taunting Castiel harmlessly, reverberates off the walls, and the few technical analysts present in the vicinity alongside Anna are staring.

“Obviously Cas isn’t a nutcase. He’s the best cop in our jurisdiction!" Anna retorts, arms crossed. "He just holds criminals — who are also humans — in high regard. Merciful justice matters to him, which we should remember as law enforcement agents,” she adds, and Cas withers visibly beneath her praise.

Balthazar chuckled, callused fingers playing with his top collar. “I  _know_  that, A. Yet still, they break the law. And sure, let's say they were at the wrong place, wrong time, or, hm, had a wife waiting for them at home. Does that justify his crime? Cas preaches 'hate the sin, not the sinner'. Last time I checked, we aren't those marble angel statues at church who only listen to everyone's prayers: we  _do_  the shit that needs to be done. He has such irrational sympathy for criminals. Well…what Castiel needs is a night out. Maybe he’ll meet some bad lover boys, if you know what I mean.”

Moving his body closer to Anna’s cubicle, Castiel observes him warily, beads of sweat materializing above his hairline, and Anna interjects angrily: “What the hell are you playing at?”

Balthazar, one of their top deputies, was the school bully. He was responsible for Castiel when he was first recruited many years ago. They used to be close, nitpicking the most difficult cases together until Balthazar emerged under Hell's Angels' radar following an indescribably tricky rendezvous that meant to expose their crime syndicate and arrest each member after previous failed attempts by their entire police division in doing so. Castiel saved his life, slicing the ropes that bound him and disabling the gang's minuscule warehouse bomb. Balthazar grew bitter, wondering how on earth a rookie was able to achieve something like that. However, Castiel knew that Balthazar was all talk, no game. Simply jealous of him for being considered the boss’ favourite, Balthazar felt that Castiel's numerous successful cases were beginners’ luck. Swiftly, Castiel was able to prove him wrong, demonstrating impeccable skill on and off the field. Moving up the ranks at an unprecedented speed because of his sharp combat, high scores and fast logic, Castiel soon became Balthazar’s equal who was very respected (and which the latter remains discriminatory about).

Reconnecting with Balthazar again was Castiel's distant wish.

Balthazar throws his hands up. “Castiel has to let loose sometime! What else can you blame his unfocused mind on? He’s probably reaching that stage where officers lose their mojo—”

Anna shoves herself away from Balthazar’s line of sight on her rolling chair, standing up to face Castiel brazenly. She grasps his arm, gentle, slipping an agitated ‘humph’ under her breath.

“As stupid as this whole thing is, Cas, you do need to let loose! Show this douche who’s actually old news. We can invite Gabe, too. Tonight we’ll celebrate your not-fired-from-my-job! And it won’t be dumb to indulge for once…what if I meet someone?”

"It's Saturday tomorrow. We have a drug bust to facilitate, and I don't think this is professional."

"Please, Cas? For me?"

Anna's eyes glimmer, the note of excitement in her tone too much for Castiel to ignore, and before he can run this reckless decision past his own undisposed conscience, Anna turns off her computer, pushing him out the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to dance (;

Castiel’s jitters are amusing to Gabriel that night.

He holds zero confidence, constantly pestering Anna about whether or not he looked presentable. He rarely agreed to public gatherings of this extent, yet the sparkling black crop dress Anna wore told him to stop second-guessing.

The club Balthazar suggested to them stood like a cake, tempting Castiel to unleash his otherwise manic inhibitions with strobe lights of every colour staining the cement walkway. Lines of people, scantily clad and then some, huddled together in clusters, giggling at the handsome bouncer who shoved a young man away for having displayed fake IDs, and the sharp intensity of bass shook the ground beneath their feet.

Castiel bit his lip, fearing that he wasn’t suited for this crazy atmosphere where alcohol and sex and irreverence ran rampant.

He self-classified as a loner outside of work, for goodness’ sake. Friday nights didn’t constitute him grinding upon somebody else while inebriated. He maintained no romantic relationships with others and rather preferred the comforts of home. Netflix would play in the background while he sipped warm oolong tea, ate his homemade sugar cookies, and read Plato’s  _The Republic_. Soon afterwards Castiel would fall asleep on the couch, his alarm automatically set to 5:30 am.

This was madness.

Anna turned to Castiel, patting his beige dress shirt, and the flashy sheen of her metallic liquid eyeliner blinded him, illuminated by neon light. “Take deep breaths, Cas. You can leave anytime if you feel uncomfortable. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with your clothes,” she whispers, and her reassuring smile restores at least a bit of Castiel’s sanity.

“I — thank you, Anna,” he says, sincere, until Gabriel removes the top two buttons of Castiel’s shirt without his permission, exposing the lean muscle of his neck, and he rolls up Castiel’s sleeves to the elbows, his sinewy arms visible. More than a few females — and males — glance at Castiel appreciatively as they pass, and Gabriel sizes him up, smug grin on his face.

“There. Now you look more like Cas the cop, not Cas the bible seller.”

Anna claps her hands, delighted. “You’re sexy, Cas! You should believe in yourself,” she gushes, kneading her tiny arm under his, and together they trudge through, Gabriel pushing their badges into the bouncer’s vision. Anna’s five-inch heels wobble precariously, and she yelps as Castiel tugs her back upright.

“God, I haven’t worn heels in a while,” she says, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder. “Clubs need to have ‘non-heel friendly’ caution signs around.”

He opens his mouth to reply when Gabriel shoves them forward. “Holy shit, Balthazar recommended us to a gay club!” he yells above the music, and Castiel’s heart pounds, erratic, at their discovery.

“ _WHAT?_  Then I can’t have, like,  _any_  guys! Why didn’t he tell us?” Anna whines in feigned disappointment, tugging a bewildered Castiel closer to the general direction of the stage. “Whatever, I’m still allowed to drool.”

“Damn straight! Or should I say, damn gay!” Gabriel accompanies Anna’s chirpy laughter at his terrible joke, and Castiel shakes his head in mirth, already feeling quite able to join the fun.

Anna was right. This wasn’t too bad.

They manage to find a table amidst the chaotic, sweaty sea of bodies, and Gabriel asks Castiel to help him buy drinks. The bar, Gabriel points, is positioned close enough to the glittery stage that the bar’s seats encompass the entire length of it, providing guests with an unadulterated view of attractive male strippers, drag queens, and male dance groups. To their far left, a large balcony houses VIP guests, speaker sets dominating either side, and hoses attached to the vast glass skylight above their heads release glitter spritz, reflecting laser beams that circulate the dance floor in a dazzling explosion of colour. Behind them, restrooms teem with tipsy clubgoers who appear to have done things that Castiel’s mind won’t entertain.

Currently, drag queens are making their mark, enticing the rowdy crowd. Loud whistles and cat calls drown their lines, but the lead queen chooses to wiggle her curvy hips to  _Fergalicious_ , thick, wiry pink lashes conveying a deep promise that tonight would no doubt please them further.

It’s difficult for Castiel to rip his fascinated gaze away. This place has trapped him inside a bubble of fabulous proportions, and Gabriel himself also lends the queens an exaggerated wink.

“Anna’s waiting, Cas, c’mon.”

Gabriel then pauses mid-step, and Castiel follows his enamoured stare.

The bartender is tall, tan skin of his angular,  _handsome_  face framed by brown chocolate shoulder-length hair that curls around his ears. His hazel eyes, alight with concentration, flit among the various lagers and shots and cocktails he’s creating, slender fingers like acrobats that balance the bottles on their glass tips. The friendly bartender smiles at his customers.

Castiel quirks his brow.

“I believe you think he’s interesting, Gabriel. Why don’t you give him a go?” Castiel asks him, gesturing knowingly, and his partner grins, wolfish.

“You bet your ass in hell I will,” Gabriel sings, slinging an arm across Castiel’s back, and the infinite drop of bass hums over Castiel’s skin. He rolls his eyes, an answering smile playing on his lips.

A couple of elbow jabs later, they arrive, unscathed, at the bar, and Gabriel dutifully let go of him, signaling to the pretty bartender. Castiel can sense Gabriel’s anticipation, and, as if he was drawn by pheromones, the bartender slides over, black t-shirt accentuating his massive frame.

“Heya, what can I get for you two today?”

Even his voice is nice – a low, kind, sensible tone that swallows Gabriel’s attention; Castiel is watching the spectacle unfold with slight anxiety.

Gabriel clears his throat, smile resembling a predator’s. “Jamaica, please. Double shot. And I want  _you_.”

Castiel wishes he were invisible, the bartender’s expression morphing into hidden reciprocation, and his eyes become round, large and cherubically feisty; Castiel can tell the bartender is blushing, his neck and cheeks red from where he stands beneath the bar’s neon fixtures, and he stutters, unsure of himself. It’s certainly a contrast to his striking appearance.

The bartender tilts his head shyly, unable to meet Gabriel’s hooded gaze. “I, um, wow, I don’t know what to say—”

“No need, baby,” Gabriel says. "And I'm sure you do know what to say, so give me your name. For special use."

Gabriel winks, Castiel noting the several implications of 'use', and he squirms in his seat.

The bartender wrings the washcloth he held, tips of his fingers picking at the frayed ends. He was quite nervous, and Castiel had never expected that his acute ability to observe one's body language would be  _this_  useful.

"I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

The bartender named Sam excites Gabriel, and he's more than pleased to hold onto Sam's hand, shaking it for seconds longer than normal. "Call me Gabe," he states, grinning animatedly, and Castiel decides it's time to step in.

"I'm Castiel. Nice to meet you, Sam.  _Gabe_  is Gabriel, my colleague."

Sam finally breaks contact with Gabriel, shaking Castiel's hand also. "Oh, hey Castiel," Sam says, and Castiel represses the urge to roll his eyes because Sam looked relieved, wide shoulders relaxing at Castiel's statement of 'colleague'. He knows that Sam may have thought they were lovers.

Sam presents their drinks, and they spare a few minutes exchanging typical words with each other. Gabriel, though, basks in Sam's undivided attention, and despite him serving the other clubbers who clearly vie for Sam to notice them, Gabriel isn't at all worried.

Gabriel leans over the counter, pressing his lips to Sam's ear, and any notion of personal space between them dissipates. Gabriel whispers something inaudible, causing Sam's spine to tense (out of satisfaction, most likely) and Castiel feels no obligation whatsoever to ask about it. He then reminds a very flustered Sam to make Anna her Pornstar cocktail, and Sam nods, dazed.

Minutes later, Castiel is tugged forwards by Gabriel, whose eyes brimmed with an emotion akin to extreme adoration. "He gave me his  _number_ , Cas! Jackpot!"

“Congratulations,” Castiel deadpans, enjoying the confused glare Gabriel shoots him, and Castiel, for the first time in quite a long time, laughs to himself.

 _It must be the atmosphere,_  Castiel muses.

“I like him too,” he says, truly earnest. "Unfortunately we have to get back to Anna.”

Enthusiasm restored, Gabriel nods, but Castiel felt that his colleague wanted to bring Sam, Gabriel's gaze containing a touch of disappointment.

Castiel sighs, looking behind Gabriel. He spots Sam serving five martinis, and a group of three males fawn over him, shamelessly flirting, yet Sam is unfazed.

This impresses Castiel, earning Sam his approval.

“Sam’s busy right now, Gabriel—”

“GUYS!”

They jump at the abrupt scream, and Anna is running towards them, wisps of damp red hair stuck to her forehead. She’s smiling.

“I was looking for you! And Gabe—,” she clasps his forearm, “You’re lucky! I could see you from where I sat and that bartender is damn  _fine_  so I decided to get us a table closer to him!" Anna’s staring openly in Sam’s direction, and Gabriel punches her stomach lightly. “Oh my god, really? Thank you hoe,” he shouts, punching her again, and their antics irk Castiel, fond smirk on his face.

Anna drags them to their new location, Gabriel now physically incapable of disconnecting himself from Sam’s line of sight, and she thrusts the drinks into their hands, raising her cocktail. “HAPPY NOT-FIRED DAY, CAS!” Gabriel and Anna yell in unison. They down their alcoholic liquids fast, whereas Castiel takes the smallest sip he could muster. His drink burns a slow, gradual path along his esophagus, the acrid and unpleasant taste of it absorbed by his tongue, and Castiel resists spitting it back into his glass.

Suddenly, as if water has evaporated from his ears, Castiel is hyperaware of the music. Its bass is thunderous, taking on a deep, repetitive pound that slams the floor, and vibrations ripple through the club’s walls: a maelstrom of sound. The crowd’s energy surges in less than a millisecond, already non-existent space between each human body increasing. Castiel observes how they unite as one, growing more rowdy and wild than humanely possible, and the strobe lights that surround the stage flicker like fireflies.

“What’s happening?” Anna questions. An MC, clad in booty shorts that exposed his bare upper torso, shoves his microphone to his mouth unceremoniously. People hiss, and Gabriel mocks Castiel’s cluelessness at the strange action.

“Know what a BJ is, Cas?”

The announcer cuts Gabriel off.

“Next up, our club favourite!” The crowd screams even louder, astronomical catcalls keeping Gabriel, Anna, and Castiel glued to their seats, and Castiel has never witnessed such an insane spectacle. “Super duper popular here at _Bold_ , his performances sell out 24/7! Every day, every night, he makes you jizz in your pants, or skirts, or your bare skin, and this  _gorgeous_  twink forces you to moan when you dance! Give it up for DICK WAYNE!"

“ _Dick_   _Wayne_?” Gabriel splutters in disbelief. “Are you shitting me? As in – Bruce Wayne Batman and good dick?!” 

Castiel isn’t listening.

 _Dick Wayne_  runs across the screen, flashing intermittently. The bass drops to an impossible level, and the front of the stage is swarming with hordes of clubgoers, too eager to grab a piece of this Mr. Wayne. Before Castiel could catch a glimpse, the table is disturbed by Gabriel.

“Sam’s here!” he cries, and Sam sits beside Castiel. He introduces himself to Anna, who shakes both of his hands and chants “Ah, Sam! Oh my god, you're hotter up close!” to Sam’s shy amusement.

 “Sorry, she’s crazy about meeting you!” Gabriel massages his elbow, and Sam giggles, leaning into Gabriel’s touch amidst Anna’s swoons. “I don’t mind—you guys are cool, and I just got off work so I'm able to hang for a bit.” Sam then points at the stage, and they twist around quickly.

“By the way, that's my brother."

Male back-up dancers in a square formation split apart and exit center stage, letting Castiel see who Sam was referring to, and his chest collapses unto itself, for Castiel had never experienced such a magnetic attraction unfurling low in his gut, embedding itself like a spark of fire on wood.

Dazzling green eyes, as fair as emerald, sweep the audience, and long feathery eyelashes flutter upon chiseled cheekbones, smattered with tiny star-like freckles. His jawline, extending past the lovely tendons of his neck, snaps forward smoothly when he moves, and Castiel's tunnel vision narrowed, acknowledging no one else but him. His body—a complex network of thick, perfectly shaped muscle—is naked save for his black bowtie and faded denim jeans, which ride dangerously low on his slender hips as he drops to the floor, and Castiel notes that his v-line disappears past red underwear. Sweat is covering his golden skin, the shine of it emphasized due to the spotlight’s glare, and his dancer arms balance his weight, holding him up seamlessly. One hand is spread underneath him, and his other hand, adorned by silver and gold rings, pulls out a dark blue handkerchief from his right back pocket and throws it offstage. The crowd erupts.

His dance style anything but innocent, his lips are full and plump: a bright pink that incites greater thrums of desire within Castiel, and Sam’s brother opens his mouth, wet with saliva. His tongue is visible as his tight abdomen grinds down, crotch pressed against the stage, and the indelible curve of his wide back rocking back and forth forms an extremely sexual dance position that unleashes heat somewhere below Castiel’s belly.  

He then stands, mahogany hike boots gliding as if the stage was water, and he raises his broad shoulders, bowlegs twisting side to side. The movement enables him to spin around in a blur, big firm pectorals squeezing together, and Castiel swallows hard, throat dry, when he realizes that the fly of his jeans was now undone, blood red cloth outlining the swell of his bulge; Castiel was not prepared for the audience’s reaction.

They scream uncontrollably, and the males in front of their table create a human line.

Gabriel breaks Castiel’s severe daze, quipping: " _Holy_   _motherfucking damn_ , this Dick guy is every person's wet dream!" and it takes a few moments until Castiel returns to himself, inhaling sharply as if he's emerged from both ice frigid water and searing hot fire.

He knows Gabriel is studying his expression, and Castiel's blood vessels enlarge involuntarily no matter how hard he tries to keep a cool face, blushes shading his cheeks.

Castiel hoped that Gabriel didn't notice in the dark shadows of the nightclub.

Alas, Castiel forgot about Gabriel's ruthless skill of paying meticulous attention to detail.

Sam and Anna are also looking on when Gabriel starts laughing real hard. "Jesus, Cas, Dick has  _literally_  stolen your heart!"

Gabriel isn't watching his words as per usual, and Castiel wants to be angry, but the hypnotizing presence of Sam's brother, who is a mere ten feet beyond them, melts his reservations like butter on a skillet.

"I'm  _not_ -"

"He's coming," Gabriel warns; Anna slaps Sam's arm, and Castiel immediately forgets that they occupy the table with him.

Dick Wayne was crawling off the stage, the music devolving into a slow, tense bass rhythm that tantalized Castiel. He felt trapped, rooted to his chair, because Sam’s brother was _swaggering_ towards  _him_ , an uninteresting specimen of homo sapiens who simply happened to be a police officer, and Castiel wanted—

He knew he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Just  _want_.

And Castiel’s mind is completely unhinged.

He should never have come to this place.

He should have said  _no_. 

Because Sam’s brother is looking right at Castiel; he saunters forward, like a cat sizing up his new toy, and his eyes are now a dark unnatural jade. He doesn’t let go of Castiel’s gaze, opening his mouth as he stares, unashamed, and his tongue pokes out at an excruciatingly slow speed. That tongue swipes his sweaty upper lip, then the bottom, and have mercy, those round, plump lips are a  _hair’s breadth_  away from Castiel’s face. 

Everything slows down promptly, Castiel’s ears muffled by his hammering pulse. The club, the audience, and the music vanish from his awareness when Sam’s brother parts his legs. He sweeps his erotically charged gaze up and down Castiel’s body, seating himself onto the officer’s lap, and Castiel forgets how to breathe altogether. 

“I’m Dean,” he says, barely pressing his lips to the column of Castiel’s throat, and Castiel fights the psychotic urge to gobble Dean up, to  _devour_  him, to—

Castiel loses his train of thought as Dean starts  _rocking_  up and down in Castiel’s lap, but he hesitates to touch him, arms suspended in the warm air for a few seconds, until Dean grabs his hands. He leans forward to whisper into Castiel’s ear again, and Dean’s wet breath ghosting over his earlobe creates shivers along the length of his spine. 

“Oh baby, I’ve seen you watching me up there. You look like a starved, innocent, bible-keeping man who’s never seen someone as delicious as me. You want me? I’m giving you permission.”

Castiel is so shocked that words evade him, yet Dean continues to rock, seductive and sensual and borderline lewd, against Castiel’s growing erection, and he jerks involuntarily, moaning low and long. Castiel is blinded from supreme pleasure when he feels Dean  _cupping_ his crotch through his dress pants.

Castiel’s conscience, now active like a headlight, is caught between swatting Dean’s hand away and simply pushing into him further. 

But…how could Castiel truly fight this? When Dean’s wonderfully freckled body was dripping with sweat? Was Dean even following employee protocol?

Castiel’s a respectable officer of the law. He shouldn’t allow this to happen here. He  _must_ be able to fight. 

“I-I can’t,” Castiel breathes. 

The ethereal male dancer smiles at him, white teeth gleaming like pearls in the dark, and he moves his head forward to capture the tip of Castiel’s chin with his soft mouth.

Castiel freezes.

“You  _can_. Touch me.”

Dean’s husky voice set off his panic.

Castiel doesn’t register the deafening hoots when he pushes himself backward, performing a tuck-and-roll across the floor from underneath Dean’s tempting figure. He lands on his back, and Gabriel and Sam are reaching for him, his colleague mouthing words that he couldn’t translate amidst the racket.

Castiel’s thoughts are white noise, his lungs heaving, as he stumbles out of the club.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Cassie.”

“Cas!  _Hello_?”

Castiel looks up after marking the last red line through his paperwork, and he folds page six, tucking it into the case file.

“Gabriel. What can I do for you?”

His colleague stands there, uniformed arms resting atop Castiel’s cubicle and concern blooming across his pinched face.

“Where in the fiery  _hell_ did you go last night?”

Castiel attempts to ignore the events that transpired. It was better to pretend last night was a dream.

Including green eyes, full bright pink lips, and freckles that resembled shimmers of stardust.

“Home. I assumed you knew where I went. Even Anna told me that ‘ _I could leave anytime if I felt uncomfortable_ ’.”

Gabriel huffs, frustrated.

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that you were  _uncomfortable_?!” 

Castiel can picture the air-quotes decorating Gabriel’s intonation. 

“C’mon, Cas! You looked like you were going to pounce on the guy who was giving you a fucking  _lap dance_ —”

Castiel chokes, looking around and spilling his cup of tea all over his desk. He murmurs a silent prayer to God for sparing his case files and cleans up the mess, tossing wet tissue paper into the waste bin.

Gabriel, however, was doubled over in laughter, drawing attention to their little conversation. Castiel fixes him with a harsh glare, which unfortunately isn’t enough to contain the giggling.

“Oh my god, y-you  _do_ have the hots for Sam’s brother! Hahahaha—” Gabriel continues, but Castiel tugs him forward, hard, by the collar, and Gabriel yelps at the unforeseen force.

“That’s not  _true_. I left because I realized clubbing was…distasteful,” Castiel snarls, feigning animosity and curling his outer lip, yet Gabriel chuckles, patting his colleague’s shoulder in what Castiel thinks is a displaced gesture of pity.

“Bullshit, Cassie. You were bored until Sam’s brother threw himself at—”

Castiel shoves him before he could complete his sentence. Shrugging on his uniform jacket, he thumbs his gun in his regulation belt and stalks away, reminding Gabriel that they had a large-scale drug bust to manage.

 

* * *

 

Their cruiser pulls into the driveway alongside three other police cars.

Homeland Security, HTU and BAU are already onsite, swarming the now empty house, and they are greeted by Hannah.

"Castiel. Gabriel. Took you two long enough." 

Gabriel meets her stone gaze levelly, jaw clenched. The acclaimed Head Officer of Homeland Security for fifteen years, Castiel still disliked her stony, arrogant predisposition as much as his colleague, yet here they were, forced to cooperate.

“What’s the deal?”

Hannah answers Gabriel, detached and thorough, and ice blue eyes gesture towards the porch. 

“This place is one of the ten human trafficking hotbeds. We may have found a potential link.” 

Castiel and Gabriel follow her into the house. It's dilapidated and decaying: a stark contrast to the wholesome framework outside, and whoever used this house hid themselves successfully. 

The floorboards squeak beneath their feet.

“Opioid distribution—at least in this specific region—was treated as a means of payment to sustain the trafficking across the border. Considering the hidden depth of these criminal activities and the complexity of the underground passages, Intelligence suspect that the Hell’s Angels are once again behind operations.”

“Oh shit, underground passages?" Gabriel sucks in a crisp breath.

Bingo. Castiel expected that the Hell's Angels were responsible. 

He touches a haphazard bathroom door, ripped cleanly off its hinges, and two Forensic analysts inspect the copper stains on the tiled floor, acknowledging Hannah, Castiel and Gabriel as they pass by. 

"Yes. We managed to uncover a well-secluded entrance in the basement," Hannah emphasizes, dodging the many bustling officers around them. "Homeland has never seen anything like it."

"I betcha they haven't. Who thought the Hell's Angels were smart enough to commit surface intent?"

"They  _are_  an organized crime syndicate, Gabriel." 

"I was being satirical."

Hannah goes on, her gloved hands opening a rusty door - yellow caution tape attached - at the end of the hallway. 

Musty, dank air assaults their noses, but the rickety descent is short, and five fellow DEA officers were heaving duffle bags, setting them aside in a neat pile for manual observation. The basement ground is cobble and dirt and sticks, and the tunnel, fenced off, takes up a wide berth of the back wall. Pots, pans, chemical equipment, and paraphernalia are gathered near the opposite wall, while black etches of soot cover three quarters, though Castiel is caught off-guard when one of the DEA officers run to him.

He has blue eyes and blonde hair, and Castiel remembers the young man from DEA's Spring recruitment. 

"Officer Novak! I mean, uh, Officer Castiel! Remember me? Samandriel? Sam for short." 

Sam shakes his hand vigorously, grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning, and beside him, Gabriel snorts, amused. 

"I do remember you, Sam," Castiel tells him warmly. 

"Yeah he does, kiddo," Gabriel adds. "You never stopped talking about how much you idolized him." 

"Gabe," Castiel chastised, and Gabriel goes quiet, smirking instead. Castiel also finds the young officer's awkward blush rather endearing. 

"I'm s-so honoured to see you out on the field! And it's my first day! I keep telling myself that I got lucky!"

“Well, I hope you keep experiencing luck. Don’t forget to work hard – perseverance may seem scarce, but the greater good justifies our line of work. Oh, and do you mind if we ask you for gloves? I’m afraid we overlooked bringing some to the drug bust today.”

Samandriel beams. “Of course, of course!”

Castiel watches him leave, and his colleague claps a hand atop his shoulder again.

“Man…you really are something, Cassie,” Gabriel murmurs, genuine sincerity in his voice, and Castiel smiles.

“He reminds me of myself.”

Hannah soon approaches them, providing a debrief of their latest progress, and she points to the adjacent wall furnace.

"They abandoned this house well before we were given the clear, but we recovered 500-pound bags of crystal methamphetamine, cocaine, and fentanyl." 

“May I take a look?”

Samandriel steps aside, giving Castiel access to the duffel bags, and indeed, hundreds of homemade drug trios were bound together in elastic bands. Castiel’s gloved hands meticulously inspected the packages, estimating their weight.

“It’s definitely 500 to 600 pounds overall, Hannah,” he says.

"500 pounds?" Gabriel whistles, and he shakes his head in disbelief. "Then this was obviously a lab. And the underground tunnel here fed their drug distribution without any hitches. Can't you believe this, Cassie? It's like something straight out of  _Breaking Bad_."

Castiel glances at his colleague. "I don't understand that reference." 

Gabriel waves a hand, sending him a mischievous smirk. "Then after this, I better introduce you to the wonderful pop-cultural world of synthetic homemade drugs." 

 

* * *

 

“Dean.”

“ _Dean_ , wake up, it’s 6 pm and you have work in like 2 hours!”

A pillow smacks the side of his head.

Dean groans, tossing the ratty covers off of himself. His hair haphazard, Sam hands him a fresh, steamy mug of coffee, and he notes the darkness outside his bedroom window.

“Ugh, what the fuck? You disturbed a _hella_ amazing dream—”

“About Castiel, huh?”

“ _No..._ Fine _,_ yeah. That’s his name, right? _Cas-ti-el_.” Dean sits up and smiles dazedly at his brother.

In his mind, Castiel’s azure blue eyes were going down on him, thin layers of salty sweat drenching their bodies as they rolled and arched and pushed and pulled together like two intertwining snakes. His legs tightened around Castiel's waist, every scrumptious sensation a livewire, and strong arms, both gentle and rough, pinned him to the mattress, pale pink lips burning a hot trail upon his skin. Shallow gasps and loud grunts escaped Dean’s open mouth until—

Dean frowns.

He couldn’t remember the rest.

“I still had 2 hours to dream about him. Fuck you, Sam.”

“Ew, don’t even tell me what was happening in it,” Sam quips, rolling his eyes. “This is what you get when you dance for a living…you become a vampire, used to night shifts and all. And then you find another guy you wanna suck blood from.”

Dean’s demeanor transforms from sleepy to wary in an instant, muted hurt swimming behind his gaze, and Sam mutters apologetically.

“Shit, sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. Was a long time ago.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have—”

“Drop it, Sammy. He…”

Dean peers into the swirling cornucopia of his coffee.

“Ben wasn’t good for me.”

“I know.”

Easily setting aside the conversation they had, his brother stands up from the bed to take a deep swig of his coffee, and he gestures to Sam, round lips the ghost of a smile. “Turn Lana on, will you?”

“Ah great,” Sam complains, until Dean takes a playful swipe at his neck.

“Lana’s _Queen_. Do it or I’ll hurt you,” he growls, teeth bared, and Sam stumbles against Dean’s vintage gramophone, hands raised in surrender.

“Jeez Dean, you always act like you’re five.”

 _When you and I were forever wild_  
_The crazy days, city lights_  
_The way you'd play with me like a child_

 _Will you still love me_  
_When I'm no longer young and beautiful?_  
_Will you still love me_  
_When I've got nothing but my aching soul?_

Lana is soft, sultry and painful: a slow, pulsing burn that plucks at Dean’s heartstrings.

He could still visualize olive skin and sensible hands, Castiel’s touch detonating his sanity like sparklers on the fourth of July, and his lips—oh, his lips worshipped Dean, drank Dean, _christened_ Dean.

Dean’s own mouth tingled, acute longing stuck in his chest, and he accepted his fate without hesitance.

There was no turning back.

“I wanna see Cas again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, okay? _Fuck_ , I just need to see him. Plus—” Dean whirls around, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You have the hots for his friend.”

Sam blushes immediately, lumbering across the room and avoiding eye contact. “I don’t! I—he’s probably messing with me. M-maybe he doesn’t swing that way.”

Dean laughs, clutching his stomach. “Are you fucking kidding me, Sammy? I could see it from space! Look, he _wants_ you. If I didn’t already call dibs on Cas I would’ve taken this short dude—”

“ _Gabriel_. His—his name’s Gabriel,” Sam stammers, and his cheeks are so red that Dean nearly mistakes him for a cherry tomato.

“Mhm, trust me,” he says, slapping his free hand atop his little brother’s huge shoulder and sipping the last of his coffee. “If Gabriel shows up tonight again, tell me and I can give him a lap dance for ‘ya. Courtesy of moi.” Dean winks, licking his lips, and Sam simply shoots him a dirty glare.

“Just what I thought…you’re too pussy to make the first move.”

Dean runs downstairs before Sam can punch him.

He needs to take care of Cas-induced business, anyway. 

“Dean! _Come back here_! You asshole— _HEY_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think (: I can't wait to start working on Chapter 4.


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